


Lying in Wait

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Gap Filler, No Slash, Points of View, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-11
Updated: 2004-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Set during the early summer, in-between seasons 1 and 2. Justin is still in a coma; Brian is still curiously absent; Jenniferâ€™s POV. Angst, angst, angst, essentially.





	Lying in Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“Coffee, Mrs. Taylor?” the night nurse proffered kindly, eyes crinkling with sympathy and concern; even though her lips were touched with faint traces of a smile, it didn’t quite reach full wattage on her face.

“No, thank you, Melinda,” Jennifer Taylor whispered, trying to return the smile with a show of gratitude, as was the WASP-y thing to do. “I gave it up,” she continued, conversational abilities nearly spent, now. 

“I understand,” Melinda replied simply. She gazed into the room that held Jennifer’s focus, feeling her heartstrings ache. ‘That poor boy,’ she told herself for the millionth time. ‘His poor family.’ 

It hadn’t been an entirely unusual circumstance for Allegheny General Hospital’s staff to see. Pittsburgh certainly had a gay nightlife to rival some cities’ but with that came the usual show of hate-mongering and anti-‘fag’ propaganda that often ended in a hospital bed and/or court room.

‘This boy, though . . .’ Melinda’s heart had immediately gone out to him. So young, so delicate-looking, and from the sound of it, so in love. He’d been attending his senior prom with the rest of his peers at St. James, so it had been said in some for another hundreds of times in the past week. The boy – ‘Justin’, Melinda sighed to herself – had danced a single song with an older man who’d been identified as his thirty-year-old lover, and on their way out to the parking lot, they’d gotten separated just long enough for someone to take a bat to the child’s head. 

‘So tragic,’ Melinda mused sadly, chewing the inside of her lip as Jennifer watched the monitor attached to her son beep steadily. She’d seen many cases of gay-bashing, but this one seemed particularly egregious to her, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Sure, Justin was young, but when *was* there a “ripe age” to be struck in the head with a bat?

Perhaps it was the constant vigil Justin’s friends and family had kept up. Since he’d been admitted a week ago, his mom and sister, many colorful (yet rather sorrowful, given the circumstances) characters who seemed to emulate the essence of Liberty Avenue, and even some of the boy’s classmates had been trying to coax Justin out of his coma, or just to leave cards and flowers and tears at his bedside. His father had been curiously absent, Melinda had noticed, but she’d tactfully avoided pressing Jennifer for details – sometimes, it was most prudent not to ask.

And then, there was Brian. The man himself, the reason Justin had caused a stir at the dance, (probably) the reason he’d been bashed in the head (or at least a catalyst for it) . . . the reason, Melinda supposed, why eyewitness reports from students who’d attended the dance cited the boy has having been “radiant”, “flushed”, and “like he was on Cloud Nine”. Brian Kinney, the patron saint of Pittsburgh’s gay youth, and their singular downfall, all at once.

“Is it alright if I check in on him?” Jennifer murmured suddenly, interrupting Melinda’s train of thought. Her hands clutched at her designer purse so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Go right ahead,” Melinda nodded, moving to open the door and allow Jennifer access to her comatose son. She shut it quietly again to give her – them – their space. 

Jennifer’s eyes rushed to grow accustomed to the darkness, simultaneously misting up as her gaze came to rest on her eldest child. Head still wrapped in bandages, body still encased in tubes, the only sign that he was still – she swallowed - *alive* was the constant reassuring beep of the monitor, and the soft rise and fall of his chest.

“Justin,” she whispered, struggling to keep her composure. She reached into her purse, fumbling with the zipper, and pulled out a small leather booklet – his high school diploma. “I picked this up from St. James today,” Jennifer said bravely, smiling ruefully in remembrance. “The principal asked me to give you his sincerest apologies. 

“There was also a big mention of you during the graduation ceremony, or so I heard,” she continued, dabbing at her eyes scornfully. “I couldn’t go. Debbie offered to sit through it with me, but . . . I didn’t want to deal with everyone acting sympathetic one minute and then going behind my back and whispering about how *unfortunate* it was the next. How *awful* that Chris Hobbs would *do* such a thing, and how his mother was simply *beside* herself – she wasn’t there, either, I guess. Still, everyone there can be so . . . so fucking hypocritical!” Jennifer ranted, and then cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed by the outburst.

“But you know that, sweetie. You know so much, about everybody. You always have. Your father–“ Jennifer paused, hesitant to hit the sour note that was Craig Taylor in all of his, “there’s nothing I can do for him, he’s got everyone he needs right there” glory, and then plunged ahead. “Your father used to like to say that you were ‘sensitive’ – and it’s a shitty euphemism for ‘gay’, but as a general description, it fits you like a glove, Justin.” Shit, she was crying now. “You’ve always been able to pinpoint exactly how everyone’s feeling or why they act the way they do. You ‘cut through the bullshit’, as Brian said once.” 

She paused again, heart thudding dully as her mind’s eye pictured Brian in the emergency room wing the night everything had gone down. Face etched in tears she’d never expected to see, neck covered in an expensive white scarf stained in her son’s own blood . . . she’d gazed at him and he’d been unable to meet her eyes without flinching. ‘Like a mama bear protecting her young,’ Jennifer mused to herself. 

Granted, Brian wasn’t the real predator; she *knew* that. She could see how much Brian obviously cared for her son, how numb he looked in the chair beside his best friend, mouth set in a firm line to keep his lips from trembling. And yet . . . something about his presence there had angered her that night, as much as *not* seeing him there afterwards did. What right did he have not only to seduce and corrupt her son, her baby, her pride and joy, but also to show up at a high school Prom at thirty and pull Justin out to the dance floor like he owned the place? What right did he have making Justin so vulnerable to being victimized? What right? He *had* no fucking right.

“I don’t know,” Jennifer admitted to the comatose boy next to her, “if I can ever forgive him.” And with that, she stood, bent to kiss her son with exaggerated tenderness, and made for the door, stopping only to place the leather diploma frame on his – the – nightstand. “Take care,” she whispered, before shutting the door quietly.

Melinda looked up from the book she’d been reading at the soft clicking sound. “How is he?” she queried kindly.

“He looks peaceful,” Jennifer replied. “Like he’s not in any pain, at least.” 

“The doctors are doing all that they can to make him comfortable,” Melinda assured her. “If he’s having any problems at all, they’re right on it.”

Jennifer nodded, and then sighed as the two women lapsed into a lengthy silence. “I should get home and see Molly,” she finally said. “Her grandmother’s been a huge help ever since the incident, but I still worry about leaving her alone.” 

“How is she?” the night nurse asked, standing up alongside Jennifer.

“Hard to say,” the slight blonde shrugged. “She hasn’t been outwardly sullen or angry, but I imagine there’s a lot of emotion bubbling beneath the surface.” She crossed the room to the doorway. “Anyways, thank you, Melinda. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Jennifer,” Melinda nodded. She glanced once more into the window of the room holding the prone boy, and sighed. ‘That poor child.’

Jennifer’s heels clicked sharply on the hard, polished linoleum of the hospital wing as she walked. Eyes focused dully ahead, hands once again tightened around her purse as if it were her life’s sustenance; her peripheral vision did not catch the lanky, dark-haired frame returning from a trip to the bathroom. It did not take into account the swollen, red-rimmed eyes and slumped shoulders of a man who hadn’t slept for a week. It didn’t notice Brian as he ducked into the visitors’ area where he knew Melinda would be waiting for him.

* * *

Author’s Note: Yes, Jennifer’s description of Craig *was* meant to sound an awful lot like Brian’s attitude in 201. You can draw your own conclusions about that.


End file.
